


Westeros World

by AlynnaStrong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Westworld (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Because can AIs have free will, Brienne needs to be sure, Ethical Dilemmas, F/M, I Want to Go to There, Robot Feels, Robot/Human Relationships, Slow Burn, Soooo Ethical, That's how she rolls, finding yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: Brienne only hopes for a bit of wish fulfillment when she enters a perfect simulation of her favorite fantasy world.  Instead she finds herself in the middle of wars both physical and psychological as the future of consciousness dawns.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Westeros World is similar to the ASoIaF world as it began in book 1/season 1. Robert is king; the Stark girls are in King’s Landing; Daenerys is still riding around Essos. In general, the backstories and plots of Game of Thrones are unknown to the human players.

Selwyn Tarth had always been indulgent; even he would admit it. When his only child, Brienne, was five years old, she’d asked for a pony and horseback riding lessons, and he’d provided them. When she was eight, she’d seen _Wonder Woman_ and asked for sword lessons, and he’d arranged for that as well. Since twelve, she’d taken taekwondo, earning her first black belt at fifteen. In high school, she’d added weight training. She was loyal to her hobbies, practicing regularly and never letting anything go.

When she entered university, Selwyn hoped she’d settle down to a more conventional life, perhaps find love and train for a stable career, but she continued to march to her own drum. She joined the school’s crew and field hockey teams, kept her grades up, and graduated with a degree in medieval history. He consoled himself that he’d managed to convince her to take a few business classes along the way, so someday he could turn over the Evenstar Corporation to her. Assuming she would accept; if nothing else she was ethical and may not feel she’d earned the position.

Selwyn knew she’d longed to visit Westeros World since it opened, but balked at asking due to the cost. He decided to indulge her one more time as a graduation present, and she could not resist the temptation. She deserved a last hurrah before joining the ranks of real adulthood, one more chance to live without limits. She would learn soon enough: life is long and often dark, take joy where you can find it.

 

Quite possibly the most beautiful woman Brienne had ever seen waited at the Westeros World terminal to receive the new arrivals. Her sleek auburn hair, perfect makeup, and smartly tailored suit looked so well coordinated that Brienne thought the effect must take hours to put together each morning. _Assuming she’s human,_ Brienne realized with a start. _She might not be. She could be a robot, a ‘host’ as they call them here._

The visitors stepped from the monorail, about three dozen in all ranging in ages from 13 to 70. They were evenly split in gender, largely but not exclusively white, and dressed in a wide array of styles, some casual; some formal. A majority, including Brienne, seemed to be buzzing with anticipation just from entering the arrival zone, though others had obviously been here before and were impatient to enter the park proper.

“Welcome to the Westeros World arrival terminal. My name is Holly. Those of you who wish may stay here by the train. Your valet will come by presently to guide you to your dressing room. If this is your first time visiting Westeros World, however, I encourage you to stay with me for a quick orientation session. I will talk a bit about the design of Westeros World, teach you about the hosts, and then deliver you to your valet who will guide you in crafting your persona to interact with the world.”

About a third of the new arrivals stayed behind, but Brienne and most of the others followed Holly as she walked over to a wall-sized map of the park. “At any given time, there are about a thousand human guests throughout Westeros World, compared to over 15,000 hosts. Each host has his or her own unique history and part in the narrative, though of course, the story can go on without any one of them.”

“How do we know the difference between humans and hosts?” a young man asked.

“If you can’t tell, does it really matter?” Holly answered.

“Kinda, yeah,” he said. “I might want to do stuff to a host that I wouldn’t do to a human.”

“I see,” Holly replied, not bothered by his frank response. “The easiest way is to mention something anachronistic. A host’s AI will patch whatever you say into something they can understand. So, if you say you’d like to ride your motorcycle around the ramparts of the castle, they’d reply that it wouldn’t be safe for you or the horse. Likewise, if you managed to bring an anachronistic item into the park, they wouldn’t be able to see it. Eyeglasses are the most common example of this. If you try to point something like that out, they’ll say ‘that doesn’t look like anything to me.’ At that point, you know you’re either dealing with a host or a human who is probably pushing a joke too far.”

Holly tapped on a large city at the eastern edge of the map. “When you arrive, you’ll be in King’s Landing, the capital city of the realms. It has so many scheduled events, intriguing plots, and fascinating characters that many guests spend their entire first visit there. If you leave the city, the plots are more thinly spaced but also more intense. You’ll find primitive hill tribes, roaming pack of direwolves attacking small villages, even a fully-fledged field battle once you go far enough out.

“For many, the best part of Westeros World is the full immersion in period detail. We’ve had medieval history scholars go over everything, from clothing to building materials. For the next week you will be living circa 300 AC.” Brienne knew this to be true; several of the graduate students in her program had bragged about being consulted over one obscure detail or another. They might not be able to afford to be paying customers, but they’d had a say in the strain of wheat used for the flour and the size of cobblestones for the roads.

“Keen observers will notice a few differences, of course, for our guests’ safety and comfort. You don’t have to worry about catching parasites or food poisoning from anything you eat or drink. The weapons are blunted, and should not be dangerous to wield. If you attack a host with one, however, he or she will react and suffer wounds as if it were sharp. Remember, hosts are incapable of injuring humans. In fact, the hosts will do what they can to keep humans from injuring each other, but please exercise self-awareness and good judgment. We do our very best to guarantee your safety, but we need some help from you as well. Don’t take on more than you’re able to handle.

“Now do you see why we have you sign so many waivers?” Holly asked to light laughter. “Follow me and you can meet some hosts up close.”

She led them into a room where a dozen people stood on low pedestals. They were dressed in period clothing and showed variety in gender and social class. A lord, a lady, a knight, a beggar, a shopkeeper, and several others at first appeared to be perfectly rendered statues until one noticed their small movements. They breathed, blinked, and subtly shifted position as if bored with standing around.

“Our hosts are programmed with the most advanced artificial intelligence in use anywhere. They are constantly learning and adapting. You’ll find they don’t merely follow a script; they can improvise to suit any new challenge.”

Brienne wandered through the room almost in a daze. She had heard of the perfect detail work on the hosts, but hearing was one thing and seeing another. If she passed any of these figures on the street, she wouldn’t give a second thought about it. Nothing in their posture or appearance gave away their mechanical origins.

“Feel free to touch,” Holly said. “We like everyone to be able to satisfy their curiosity before entering the park. It confuses the hosts there if you stare at them in awe,” she grinned. “These ones don’t mind. So mingle a bit and get it out of your system.”

Brienne brought her hand up to touch the arm of the beggar girl in front of her. Despite herself, she gasped. The girl’s arm felt warm and soft, with scrawny muscles and small bones underneath her flesh. The arm had a downy coating of body hair, freckles, and even calloused fingertips.

“Open your mouth,” Brienne ordered. The girl obeyed, revealing a few missing teeth and some unhealthy-looking gums. Brienne wanted to touch her tongue to see if it was rough and moist but couldn’t summon the nerve. It seemed too invasive even for a robot programmed to allow it.

Holly spoke once again, “Those of you who are over 18 may step to the back. We have a display of some unclothed hosts through the frosted glass door if you would like a look at them.”

Brienne supposed it couldn’t do any harm to sate that curiosity as well. She followed the other adults into a smaller room where two naked hosts – one male and one female – stood calmly smiling at the newcomers. Her attention was drawn mainly to the man. He seemed perfectly at ease while his erection greeted the audience. A dusky pink, mushroom shaped tip protruded from a shaft of six inches or so. Brienne would later realize that she could not have picked the man’s face from a line-up; her attention had been focused squarely elsewhere.

“Now before you ask, I’ll tell you: the majority of guests do have sexual relations with a least one host, so don’t be shy. As with everything, your safety and comfort are our paramount considerations. The hosts are thoroughly cleaned, and you’ll find they secrete a nice lubricant that helps encounters go smoothly.” She toggled a button on her control pad, and Brienne saw a dollop of clear liquid emerge from the man’s penis and begin running down the shaft. There was, presumably, something similar going on with the female host, but Brienne couldn’t tear her eyes away to check. He was certainly a specimen. She hadn’t expected to pencil… that… into her plans, but maybe. It wouldn’t be any more consequential than a sex toy.

Holly continued, “There are brothels with many different options on offer. However, if you want romance with a specific host, there may be a quest involved. Some are relatively straightforward; others quite complex. If you would like end up with the queen, for example, you should prepare to devote most of your week to the effort.”

“Couldn’t I just take her by force?” asked a man with a bushy mustache under a bulbous nose. Brienne made note of his face to better avoid him later.

“Perhaps if you were exceedingly clever about it,” Holly calmly replied. “But remember, the queen will have guards with her most of the time. There are certainly easier hosts to rape if that is your choice of entertainment.” Brienne observed that she was not the only person to take note of the questioner. He didn’t seem to mind, clearly having his own ideas about what constituted a good use of his time and money.

“On the subject of rape, we do take your consent very seriously,” Holly continued. “The hosts are unable to engage sexually with a guest under the age of 18, and they are sensitive to any resistance from guests even during the throes of the act. However, if at any time you want a sexual encounter to end, say ‘Red.’ Once should be enough, but repeat it three times: ‘red red red,’ and a host will freeze all motor functions and shut down. That’s only for sex,” she cautioned, “we can’t have you cheating during sword fights, now can we?”

 

“Your individual valets will now approach to assist with character design and costume. I do hope you enjoy your visit to Westeros World, and that we are able to satisfy your every desire.”

As Holly bid her group a fond farewell, a swarm of attractive people paired off guest by guest. Brienne found herself alone with a handsome man, equally tall as her with deep blue eyes. He tapped at a tablet to bring up her information.

“You must be Ms. Brienne Tarth. My name is Ryan. I see this is your first visit to Westeros World. Please let me know what I can do to make it more enjoyable. Have you given any thought to your character?” As they walked to the dressing rooms, he tilted the tablet toward Brienne and started to scroll through the available options. They seemed to consist mainly of fancy dresses with various family histories or occupations attached.

“I was hoping to be a knight,” she said.

“Certainly.” He touched another tab and a mouth-watering array of armor styles filled the screen. “Do you have any experience wearing armor? The weight of the metal ones can be unexpected otherwise.”

“I have quite a bit of practice, yes.” Her eyes were drawn to a suit of gold-tinted steel plate. She informed Ryan of her choice.

“Good. We will set you up with a full layering of boiled leather, chain, and plate then. Would you like the Tarth coat of arms on your shield?”

“You can do that?” The Tarth family maintained their crescent moon and sunburst pattern from ancient times, but Brienne had no idea how they’d made their way into the Westeros World databases.

“Of course. We find adding the symbol of a guest’s ancestral house helps them feel part of the world. I’ll submit the design for printing while I show you the armory.” Ryan led her into a medieval weapons display of her dreams. Brienne chose a longsword for herself, heavy and thick. The weight wouldn’t be a problem for her – she generally trained with a greatsword – and it would give her an advantage against most others one-on-one while also allowing her to wield the family shield.

“If you would like to get undressed now, I can help you don the armor. Or I could entertain you in another way while your shield prints.”

Brienne gulped in surprise; that certainly came out of nowhere. “You’re a host… right?” Brienne asked. “And Holly wasn’t.”

“Yes, that is correct,” Ryan said.

“She was so perfect it would have been lazy for her to be artificial. You have crooked teeth and that big mole on your neck.” Brienne realized she was babbling. “I wonder what you think about us,” she muttered, half to herself. It was as if the animals at the zoo could suddenly talk. With all the questions about rape and how much abuse the hosts could take before needing repair, she had to assume they saw little good in humanity.

“We love you,” Ryan said with heartfelt force. “We want nothing more than to make your time here as enjoyable as possible, in any way we can.”

_He means it,_ Brienne realized. _He’s programmed to and can’t resist it._ Any interest in exploring her alternate entertainment options suddenly vanished. It didn’t feel right; in fact, the idea now seemed downright disturbing.

 

Entering King’s Landing took Brienne’s breath away. She’d tried to prepare for it, but couldn’t stop herself from pausing every few feet to admire how perfect it all was down to the smallest detail. The houses weren’t just wood and straw, they were the proper cut of wood from the proper kind of tree, and they weren’t new. They had apparently endured decades of weathering and patching in this two-year old themepark. The only problem was, every time she stopped, the nearby hosts tried to interact with her.

“Good Ser, my daughter has run off with the baker’s boy. Please help me find her.”

“Ser Knight, we are looking for volunteers to head into the foothills and put an end to the bandit menace. You look like you have the mettle.”

Once she removed her helm, the next host transitioned smoothly to, “Lady Knight, if I can’t raise six silver stags by evening, I’ll lose my shop.” The Martin Corporation had omitted much of the sexual and racial discrimination endemic to the time, sacrificing realism in this aspect for guest comfort and inclusiveness.

A rough voice to Brienne’s side said, “You shouldn’t have been gambling, then. Off with ya.” The newcomer gave Brienne a smile. She didn’t return it, feeling annoyed that another guest would butt in, especially with spoilers. Westeros World had been open long enough that guides were available for many of the plot lines. She’d chosen to go in pure, not wanting to prejudice a moment of the experience.

“Tough one, eh?” the man said. Brienne saw pox scars on his face and realized he must be another host. “That’s some fine steel you’re wearing. Mayhap you’re the one who can help me. There’s a tourney today; it’d be too late for you to enter, but I’d be willing to offer you my place in the lists.”

“Oh, and what’s in it for you?” Brienne asked. She found herself drawn to the plot line despite her original determination to at least enter the Red Keep before committing herself to anything. Competing in a meticulously recreated tournament, though – wasn’t that exactly the sort of fun she wanted here?

“Only one thing. If you ride against the Mountain, you aim your lance straight for his black heart. I used to be an innkeeper; I had a beautiful daughter. What that soulless dog and his men did to her… I can’t bear to repeat it.”

Brienne could scarcely believe the range of emotions the host portrayed, from grim determination to heartbroken rage to shame at being unable to execute his own vengeance. She decided she literally couldn’t believe it; fifteen minutes into the park and she already needed to test. “Perhaps I should break out my assault rifle and shoot him full of holes.”

He looked confused for a moment. “M’lady, they don’t allow crossbows in the lists. It’ll all come down to your skill with lance and sword. Are you willing to give it a try?”

Amazed, she nodded. “Yes. If I get the right draw, I’ll do my very best to deliver your vengeance.”

 

The tournament grounds outside the keep were packed with more spectators than Brienne expected. Many of them had to be hosts, of course. She wondered if they could enjoy truly the event in any way. They certainly looked carefree; talking, cheering, and eating right alongside the humans.

In Brienne’s first bout, she rode against a green squire. The young man was clearly programmed to all but dive off his horse to give any human opponent a win. Brienne rode around the ring, accepting cheers from the crowd but not feeling she’d really earned them.

Her next bout was against Ser Ronnet Connington, a broad-shouldered knight with a long red ponytail. On seeing he would ride against a woman, he taunted her with crude sexist jibes. She expected the difficulty would ratchet up with each round, but still confidently tossed back her reply. “Say your say. It will make watching you eat those words all the sweeter.”

“Get him, girl, for feminism!” Brienne heard from the crowd. She wondered what the hosts around the woman had heard when she’d spoken for feminism.

“If you win, I’ll eat my words and my boots as well. But if I win, you eat my cock,” Ronnet said.

The crowd roared as Brienne shouted, “Deal!” Underneath her helm, she blushed. _I suppose I can cross ‘receive vulgar proposition from a robot’ off my bucket list._

She did not have to fret about making good on that wager, however, as she unseated Ser Ronnet in their first pass. Obviously, she had several times more training at medieval games than most park guests.

Her third opponent seemed, if anything, a step down from Ser Ronnet. He was a lithe, slim-framed young knight named Loras Tyrell. His light brown hair fell in waves past his shoulders, and he played to the crowd long enough to be annoying before taking his place. _He’s handsome, certainly, but is he supposed to charm me off my horse?_ Brienne wondered.

Brienne only realized that she had taken him too lightly when she felt herself flying from her horse due to his expertly placed lance strike. Fortunately, she’d managed to unhorse him as well. They picked themselves up from the ground and drew their swords to face off.

Brienne raised her shield in time to block his barrage of quick blows. He had excellent footwork and moved as if completely unencumbered. _Must be nice to have carbon fiber muscles._ _This match wasn’t going to be so easy; in fact I could very easily lose._ Even in real tournaments, the goal was submission not death, Brienne reasoned, so she didn’t need to get through his armor. She just needed to get him on his back. A taekwondo side kick was probably not the most common of maneuvers in medieval sparring, but it did the trick. He flew backward a few paces, stumbled, and fell supine. Brienne was on top of him in an instant, a dagger aimed through his faceplate.

“I yield. I yield!” he said.

_He looks genuinely pissed off,_ Brienne couldn’t help but notice. His eyes drifted to the audience like he was upset at disappointing someone. _How amazing – I’ve interfered with a robot’s plot line, and he is mad about it._

For the final round that would determine the tournament’s champion, sure enough, Brienne’s opponent was Gregor Clegane, better known as the Mountain that Rides. A man of monstrous size, he sat astride a huge black charger, and wore such thick steel armor Brienne didn’t think a human could move in it. She didn’t see how she could possibly win this joust. Even knowing that he was programmed not to hurt her, she couldn’t see how her wooden lance could spill him from his horse. She wasn’t sure a cannon ball would do it.

Still, she seated her lance and made ready to ride. She had to at least make the attempt, and perhaps the programmers had scripted a whimsical fall or well-timed heart attack. No such luck on their first pass. Brienne’s lance shattered against his armor. His lance broke on her shield, but she gripped her horse tightly with her legs and managed to keep her seat. He growled as they wheeled around and each accepted another lance from the squires.

Brienne thought it was surely hopeless, that she couldn’t – that no human could – get him off that horse. _The horse are robots,_ Brienne considered. _Most guests don’t know enough about real horses to ride them. The robot steeds help us stay balanced, and are less skittish… and I don’t have to care if I hurt one._

As they came together on their next pass, Brienne dipped her lance and speared the Mountain’s horse right through the eye. It reared in its agony. The Mountain did not fall, but as the horse died beneath him, it rolled. Brienne heard the sickening crunch of breaking bone and had to chant to remind herself that it was all pretend.

Stablehands and squires swarmed out; nearly a dozen were needed to separate the Mountain and his steed. They dragged the fallen warrior from the grounds. Brienne couldn’t tell whether he was dead or merely incapacitated. It didn’t matter, she supposed. He was just a robot, and she had won!

 

Brienne rode over to the royal box and removed her helm. A young squire respectfully approached, bringing a garland of red roses.

“My fair Lady knight, who will you declare as your queen of love and beauty?” King Robert asked.

Brienne took the garland of roses but had absolutely no idea what she should do with them. Traditionally they went to the lady whose favor the knight desired, but- _What, are you afraid some robots are going to think you’re gay? Just give them to the queen,_ Brienne’s practical mind spoke up.

The queen looked down on her, cold and regal. She made Brienne feel insignificant even as a champion. Sitting a few seats away from her, however, was an auburn-haired girl who looked simply miserable. There must be some backstory going on there, some reason the girl seemed to have lost all joy in her life. Brienne extended her lance with the garland of roses to the girl. They both smiled shyly as she accepted and put them on her head.

“Hear hear,” said King Robert, “our tournament champion, Brienne of Tarth and her queen of love and beauty, Sansa Stark. My congratulations, Lady Tarth. I hope you will be our guest at the feast tonight.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I would be honored,” Brienne said.

“Wonderful! And do not worry, I will make sure you have a prime view of Ser Ronnet eating his special meal,” the king said, laughing as he pulled his haughty queen to her feet.

Sansa was smiling as well and held her head up higher than before. Brienne absorbed the good will coming from everyone, except possibly the golden-haired man in white armor who took his place at the king’s right side. He regarded her with an expression she’d call ‘appraising.’

 


	2. Chapter 2

Brienne basked in the pride of her tournament victory as well as the satisfaction of having helped another person forget their own troubles for a while. She didn’t remember that the girl she’d cheered up was a robot until she got all the way to her guest chambers. There Brienne found several different dresses that were all mysteriously well-tailored to her unusual measurements with matching slippers and jewelry. _Of course,_ she remembered, _it’s all pretend._

Her first choice for a dinner dress was a pale-pink silk one trimmed with Myrish lace. It was the most similar to the sorts of dresses her father kept trying to make her wear. She supposed he knew more about fashion than she did – almost anyone does. Trying it on, though, she thought it looked terrible. The color washed out her complexion, and the cut only exacerbated her broad shoulders and lack of bosom. She wavered for a moment, then nodded in determination. This was supposed to be her fantasy, after all. She changed into the less feminine suede vested dress with the powder blue skirt. It wasn’t what the most proper ladies would wear, but she felt miles more comfortable. (And since when do proper ladies win jousting tournaments?)

At dinner, she sat on the high dais, only three seats away from King Robert. He made much of her victory, talking about how many tournaments Ser Clegane had won and how many knights he had accidentally killed. Sansa Stark was seated next to her, a stunning beauty in mint-colored silk. Brienne supposed they were following their script, dolling up her love interest for romance to blossom during dinner. She had no intention of chasing that plot, however, since she’d gotten a closer look at Sansa. The girl could be no older than thirteen. An acceptable age back in the day, and she’s a host so it shouldn’t matter, but Brienne could think of other paths to follow that weren't so far outside her comfort zone.

The meal was of gourmet quality, and a bit too intricately prepared to be period appropriate, but Brienne wasn't complaining. Always a hearty eater, she was happy to tuck in to a fancy meal without worrying about getting the table manners wrong. Jugglers and bards provided entertainment. The Kingsguard stood motionless at their stations. It was all so carefully done. She could almost see why building robots proved easier than training actors to always stay perfectly in character and never break guests’ suspension of disbelief.

After dinner, many people came up to Brienne to offer their congratulations. She recognized quite a few faces from orientation and heard many non-Westerosi accents. It seemed she’d impressed the human contingent as much as the locals. An experienced visitor said he’d never seen the Mountain defeated before and asked if she’d like to accompany him on a rare quest he planned to pursue. She told him they could talk about it in the morning. Truth be told, the tournament and heavy meal had left her exhausted. The only plotline she wanted to follow right now was the one that led back to her guest chambers.

 

A maid trotted ahead of Brienne, saying she’d light the fireplace and have her room cozy and warm in a trice. Brienne walked slowly behind, again amazed by the perfect recreation of a medieval castle. Nearly every medieval scholar she knew was angling to be hired here. Hells, they’d probably work for free, at least if the position included room and board.

A voice interrupted her reverie. “There’s a face that looks best behind a steel visor. You and your queen of love and beauty didn't seem very compatible this evening. Think twice before choosing a Stark next time. They can be very judgmental.” It was the Kingsguard who’d stood nearest the royal table during dinner. The same one who’d stared at her so intently after the tournament. Brienne was surprised at his rudeness, but then again, no one had promised that all the hosts would be nice. Some of them were bound to be asses.

“What, would you have rather I chose you? Fancy having everyone call you my queen of love and beauty?”

He made a disgusted face, perhaps at the idea of anyone pairing them together. “Did you not think honoring your queen would have been more appropriate than Sansa Stark? The girl is not even a woman grown,” he scolded.

Brienne rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought she looked sad.”

“So? She’s a Stark. They all look like that.”

“It seemed more serious to me. Besides, I don’t know anyone here, especially not the queen. From the way she was glaring at me, it didn’t seem like she wanted me to chose her.”

The Kingsguard chuckled. It changed his face, making him appear much more boyish and kind. “She just hates tournaments. I’m not permitted to ride anymore since I became Lord Commander, so she has no one to cheer on. But my sister always likes to be reminded that she’s beautiful. She’s rather keen on being the most beautiful, actually. I think you dinged her pride.”

 _Oh, the queen is his sister; what intricate plotting! That puts his mocking jibes into some context, as well._ “I certainly did not intend to give offense to the queen. If it please you, tell her that I feared appearing rude by choosing the king’s wife right in front of him. I was unsure of the etiquette, and so I decided on an unmarried lady.”

“Ha, if you’d chosen Cersei, Robert would have been pleased, not offended. He’d probably have asked you to join them together tonight.” (This was true; coming in as winner or runner up at the King’s Landing tourney unlocked a variety of quests, including the possibility of a threesome with the royal couple). “Which, suddenly I see your reluctance.” He grimaced and shook with mock disgust. “You might have a clever mind hiding under that sparrow’s nest of hair. Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” He extended his arm in greeting.

Brienne clasped it with hers. “Brienne of Tarth.”

“Not Brienne the Tall, or the… Blue?” His programming seemed to skip for a moment there as if he was overwhelmed and unable to extemporize.

“No, no fancy titles yet. This is my first time away from home, so I’m still making a name for myself.”

“You’re off to a fine start. Congratulations on your victory.” He bowed and smiled, seeming for a moment the perfect knight, then strode away.

 

“Would you like anything else, m’lady?” the maid asked. She’d already brought Brienne a sleeping shift, a glass of warm goat’s milk, and a down-stuffed comforter in case the night turned cold.

“No, thank you. I’ve had a long day and fine meal. I believe I’ll turn in.”

“I’d be happy to stay if you’d like some company,” the young woman said. Brienne did a double take and finally realized why she was having such trouble getting rid of the maid. She was not used to receiving this kind of attention, at least not as forthrightly. With so many hosts programmed to initiate intimate encounters, no wonder Holly said most of the guests do it.

“Sorry. I’m really tired, like I said.”

“Very well. Remember that you can always ring your bell if you have a special request.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m going to bed now,” Brienne shooed her out of the room.

Minutes later, a knock sounded at the door.

“I actually do need to sleep,” Brienne yelled, “unlike you,” she muttered.

“I only ask a few minutes of your time,” a muffled masculine voice said.

Brienne opened the door to see Ser Jaime Lannister lurking in her corridor, dressed in a nondescript tunic rather than his Kingsguard armor. He made a show of taking a shocked step backwards when he saw her.

“How unusual for a woman: the less you wear, the uglier you look.”

Brienne scowled. She wore a plain white sleeping shift that, in this era, would be considered far too short for decency. She couldn’t rest comfortably in anything that fell past her knees, though. It admittedly did little favors for her coloring, but again, she wasn’t planning on greeting a lover this evening; she was trying to sleep. “What do you want, Ser?”

He grinned, taking in her annoyance. “I suppose the maids won’t leave you alone. They like having a new champion to fawn over. The Mountain is not so popular with them. Overly large size can be an obstacle in some ways.”

“Not a problem for you, I suppose,” she grumbled.

“Ha! The wench has a touch of wit! Or are you a maid?” he asked with a touch of faux pity. “You could be a maid. You don’t seem to favor women, and not many men are strong enough to take you.”

 _Seriously, could the programmers have forgotten that humans need to sleep?_ “Listen, did you have-”

“I’m strong enough,” he said as if the idea had just occurred to him. The excitement flashing in his emerald green eyes derailed her objections and filled her with a new bolus of energy.

He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her backwards into her room. She went along for a few steps before shaking herself free.

“Not interested,” she said. Not exactly a lie, yet not exactly the truth – the hosts seemed to dwell in an uncanny valley between inanimate sex toy and real person. One way or the other would be fine, but the middle made her uncomfortable.

“Of course you are. You can’t stop making cow eyes at me.”

“Dream on. It’s you that’s visiting my room, uninvited. Was there something you wanted?”

He blinked and seemed to change tracks. “It’s about your queen of love and beauty. I can tell you why she’s so sad and what you can do about it, if you want.”

“Well, all right then. That is actually something I’d like to talk about,” Brienne encouraged him. _Finally, a new plot hook about something less confusing than sex!_

 

Brienne summed up the situation as Ser Jaime had explained it. “So her father is under arrest, and her brother is marching an army on the capital to free him. She’s a hostage here against his actions. I understand all that.” It was fairly common medieval brinkmanship, Brienne knew. “What’s not making sense to me is why you’d want to help her.”

“Ah. If you knew anything about the Lannisters, you’d know, well, you’d know that we’re rich. But if you knew two things, you’d know we put family ahead of anything else. The Starks are holding my younger brother in prison. My father will go to war to free him before long, but we could head it off with a trade – Sansa for Tyrion.”

“See, I’m thinking there’s a reason you’re telling me this instead of your sister, the queen.”

“We’ve discussed it. She feels Sansa’s value is too high to trade for our brother. She also doesn’t take the threat of the Northern army seriously.”

“You disagree?”

“About Tyrion, certainly. But yes, also about the Northerners who played a large part in putting her husband on his throne. They’re tough and brutal. They don’t have many knights, not formally anointed ones anyway, but they know how to fight from the woods and set ambushes. No matter how the battles go, we’ll end up losing a lot of men. Not the least of which would be Tyrion. What could possibly be the point?”

“You’re asking me to abduct Sansa from under the queen’s nose, escort her into a war zone, then bring your brother back?” _That sounds like so much fun! The detail in the plotlines is insane! Would there have been a quest no matter who I chose?_

“There are a few more complications.”

“Oh good,” she said with an incredulous laugh. _Why not?_

“For one, my brother isn’t being held at the same place Sansa needs to be delivered. Also, you don’t know where either location is. Not to mention, you must be as dumb as you are ugly if you think I’d just turn Sansa over and send the two of you on your way. This may end up being called treason, but I need to personally ensure you do your duty and my brother returns home safely. I’m going with you.”

“Okay,” she nodded. It would be helpful to have a guide.

He flashed her a consternated look. “What is wrong with you? You haven’t even asked for a reward. Why are you so eager to help this girl you’ve barely met from a family you don’t serve, especially when I’ve just said it’s likely treason?”

Brienne realized she’d gotten too excited about the quest and forgotten to roleplay. “I’m a knight, a young one, but I remember my vows. I’m sworn to protect the weak and help those who can’t help themselves. Sansa is isolated, scared, and probably doomed here, like you say. I feel I have a duty to her, especially since I focused new attention on her at the tourney. The real question is, why are you? Why go against your sister for the child of a rival house?”

Jaime’s brow furrowed. He paused several seconds before answering, “The Starks are holding my younger brother in prison. My father will go to war to free him before long, but we could head it off with a trade – Sansa for Tyrion.”

“Yes, you said.” Brienne supposed they couldn’t plan a full suite of rationales for every contingency. “Do you have any thoughts about the actual rescue?”

“The first step will be for you to disguise yourself as a woman and sneak into the Maidenvault.”

Brienne shot him a sharp look. “You were trying to get into my pants not ten minutes ago,” she reminded him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the most hideous woman I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t want into your pants except to borrow them after pissing my own.”

“Do you do that a lot? Your mother should have hugged you more.”

They glared at each other, their insults leaving unintentionally deep wounds. Finally in exasperation Jaime said, “If you want to do it, get dressed. Otherwise we don’t have to speak of it again, or anything else for that matter.”

“What, tonight? You want to do this right now?” _Okay, the experience has been awesome so far, but the park runners are definitely getting a comment from me on giving the guests time to sleep._

“She doesn’t have a bedmate, so this is the most alone we’ll catch her. Get her into traveling clothes and a hooded cloak and lead her to the stables. I’ll clear out the guards on duty and have some horses ready with our armor and weapons packed away. We’ll ride up the Kingsroad, and hopefully no one notices we’re gone until it’s too late.”

“Very well; it's audacious enough to work. Just so you know, I’m amazed you’re willing to do this. Going against your sister has to be hard. I’m sorry I made a crack about your mother.” Even a robot must feel stress in this situation, Brienne reasoned. He’d looked so authentically hurt. Maybe he really didn’t remember trying to seduce her; they must glitch sometimes. She’d rather believe that than think he always considered the idea a joke.

“A-apology accepted. And I have possibly seen a more hideous woman. I'd have to think about it.”

 

“Sir, one of the major hosts is off his loop. Jaime’s headed into the Riverlands,” Sam told his boss. Usually he wouldn’t bother the head of Behavior with such a minor matter, but Jaime Lannister was a key narrative character for many of the high-level King’s Landing plots. If he stayed out of position for an extended time, they could become bottlenecked.

“Is he with a guest?” Dr. Qyburn asked.

“Yes, as well as Sansa Stark. They’re all riding out of town as hard as they can. There’s no way to get him back for tomorrow unless we disrupt the guest’s experience.”

“Let’s see,” Qyburn examined the tablet held by his subordinate. “Ah, he’s guiding Miss Tarth on the Sansa sub-quest. It’s rarely accessed but completely within parameters.”

“Really? Well, I suppose I can shift Marbrand and Moore to cover his quest hooks until his he resets.”

“Good man. Oh, and can you tell Mel I’d like to speak with her about the fire rituals for the Beyond the Wall expansion?”

“Certainly.” Sam scurried off, and soon Mel came walking calmly toward Qyburn as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Did you really want to talk about the magic effects, because the last I heard, we were bumping Beyond the Wall and doing Essos instead. ‘Guests will like dragons more than snow,’ is that not correct?”

Qyburn tilted his head toward his protégée. “Mel, have you been experimenting with major plot characters again? We discussed this; special modifications are for hosts stationed at the western periphery, and minor characters at that.”

“As instructed, I have not touched Stannis,” she said brusquely.

“Did I say Stannis?” Qyburn tried to sound disciplinary, but a chuckle slipped through at her obvious evasion.

Mel’s lips curled into a smile; she could tell he was more pleased than angry. “You know better than anyone how much work went into Jaime’s backstory. After all that, he’s just supposed to guard the royal family and lust after his sister? Perhaps throw out a few plot hooks amidst his arrogant remarks if he finds the chance? He has so much more to offer!”

“I agree, my dear. You know I do. But if you make large, sudden changes to his personality matrix, they will not go unnoticed. Sam Tarly, of all people-”

“Now wait. I didn’t alter his personality. I just took off his narrative controls.”

“Oh is that all?!” Qyburn exclaimed. Her recklessness reminded him of himself, it was true, and the experiments needed to be done, but she was going to get them caught if he didn’t curtail this.

“It’s what we’ve discussed all along. How can they evolve if we don’t let them make their own choices? Won’t it be so much more interesting to observe in a character who can actually affect the plot? We’re seeing the results already. A man with his qualities takes action. He doesn’t want to stand around waiting on a king who’s more interested in exploring each of the seven deadly sins.”

“Still, why is he helping Sansa Stark? Let's have a quick look at his attributes, just to make sure you didn’t accidentally make any changes.” He rolled the word ‘accidentally’. Mel lied to him rather frequently; her radical, innovative thinking often led to unpredictable behavior. It was a trade-off he’d made his peace with. Besides, he was a fair liar himself.

Qyburn scrolled through Jaime’s settings which did seem unaltered. “Mmm maybe this is it: his chivalry is set sky high. As are his physical parameters, his pride and self-loathing – interesting combination – charisma, bravery, generosity… everything but ambition and cruelty, really. Miss Tarth must have triggered something in him, and without narrative controls, he’s making a new story.”

“Which is exactly what we’re hoping to see,” Mel pointed out.

“Are his behavioral restraints intact?” Qyburn asked, then scanned Jaime’s profile to be sure.

“Yes, of course. No one wants to see a guest raped or murdered. Only a maniac would take off those,” she said, fixing her mentor with some side-eye.

Qyburn tabbed over to Jaime’s error log. “You may as well go ahead and delete the behavioral imperative that causes him to only desire his sister. He’s glitched on that a couple of times since you gave him narrative freedom.”

“Good catch. Thank you, doctor. I will,” Mel said.

“We’ll let it play out otherwise. Miss Tarth is here for the rest of the week. Be careful and keep an eye on them. Let’s see what sort of trouble they can get up to in that time.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Brienne, Jaime, and Sansa rode throughout the night to put some distance between themselves and any pursuing Crown forces. By daybreak, Jaime could tell that Brienne was about to drop after a day of tournament jousting, a heavy meal, and the stress of a high-risk nighttime ride to free Sansa from Crown custody. She needed to sleep soon or she’d fall from her horse.

“My lady, I have obviously interrupted your beauty sleep with this mission. For all of our sake, that simply will not do. I suggest that you and Sansa take a room at the next inn we pass, posing as sisters. I will approach separately and offer a groat to bed down in the stables. That way, I can keep on eye on the horses and hear if any search parties come calling.”

“That is a fine idea, Ser Jaime. I thank you for it.” Brienne couldn’t figure out how the constant mockery of her appearance was supposed to enhance her experience here. Perhaps it was meant to make eventually winning him over all the sweeter. (In fact, Jaime was programmed to be very difficult to seduce in game. Those players who wanted to have their way with the land’s greatest swordsman needed to capitalize on his relationship with his sister or, of course, take him by force).

Brienne continued to deliberate about whether to pursue any such “quest.” She’d seen too much emotion, not only from Jaime but from so many of the others. They laugh, become angry, beg for mercy, tease, flirt, even when no human is interacting with them. They have internal lives. They are, for lack of a better word, people… except that every bit of it can be overridden by programming from outside themselves. If they can’t claim authority over their own minds, then any romantic overtures are suspect. She’d been struggling with it since she arrived, and it kept coming back to those co-related points: they’re basically human, but they can’t give meaningful consent.

Her eyelids drooped; she was too tired to think about this now. As Jaime suggested, she rented a room for herself and Sansa. She fell into bed, fully intending to sleep until sunset when they could travel the roads again with less chance of being spotted. Sansa snuggled in beside her and _of-godsdamn-course_ started to unlace her shirt.

“No!”

“I just want to show you how grateful-”

“Absolutely not.”

Brienne breathed deeply to keep from showing her temper as the girl moved to put some space between them. There wasn’t enough room. Brienne rolled off the bed and into the thick layer of rushes on the floor. At least they were fresh. She soon fell into a sleep so deep that she wouldn’t have noticed a dragon landing outside.

 

Jaime reunited with the women that evening by climbing through their window and accidentally trodding on Brienne’s arm. She awoke to his smug grin as his eyes shifted from her on the floor to Sansa, still sleeping on the bed.

“Playing hard to get, wench?”

“What do you think?” she groaned, massaging her pinched arm.

“I think you’re too noble for your own good. Keep going this way and you’ll end up as pure and mad as Baelor the Blessed.”

“You’re full of shit,” she said, coming to consciousness grumpily in this land of no coffee.

“No, I’m serious. You’re a bit too… much.”

“I’m a knight. It’s that simple. Protect the weak; defend the innocent. I’m sure this sounds somewhat familiar. Besides, ravish a lot of maidens yourself, do you? You don’t seem like the type.”

“Well, I can afford to have standards. With a face like yours, you’ll need to take what you can get.” He helped pull her to her feet, smiling fondly though she didn’t notice.

“Gods, you’re impossible. I’m going to get us a hot meal and some food for the road. We should be on our way if we want to make the Riverlands by morning.”

They rode out with a sunset of vivid scarlet and plum painting the sky to the west. They would travel through the woods and emerge near the crossroads. Following the Trident should lead them to Robb Stark’s camp within the day. (Distances between kingdoms were vastly compressed to allow visitors the opportunity to access more parts of the world).

Brienne was thinking that the woods seemed unusually quiet when she heard the first howl. Troublingly, it was answered from further along the path. The horses began to grow nervous, as did Brienne. Something large moved in the underbrush.

“Jaime, should we try to outrun them or scare them away?”

“Neither will work. They’ve got us surrounded. We’ll have to fight. Guard Lady Sansa. Robb Stark will not be understanding if she’s injured.” Jaime rode forth, making much noise and challenging the wolves to attack him.

Brienne at first felt slighted, but soon saw there were plenty of the savage beasts for both of them. In fact, he’d left her the more important job. A dozen sleek, muscular frames converged on their small group. They darted forward to nip at the horses’ flanks and then retreated before they could be attacked. The horses would panic soon – at least real horses would – so Brienne reasoned that she needed to take action.

She drew her sword and launched herself from horseback at the closest wolf. She impaled it easily but knew others would close in. She swung her sword with little technique, just trying to put up a blade wall between herself and the enemies. Adrenaline started to kick in, and her footwork reasserted itself. She pivoted around Sansa’s horse, never staying in the same place for long. She heard many pained yelps as her blows hit home.

When she had a moment’s respite from attack, she looked around to find the woods littered with the corpses of nearly a dozen wolves. It had been surprisingly easy.

“Well done!” Jaime shouted as he rode up. “Should we call you Brienne the Wolf-Slayer now?”

“No, I don’t think I want to make a career of it.”

“You have some real skill, Lady Brienne. You’re not ready for the Kingsguard yet, but you definitely have potential. Some people fight well at tournaments but turn craven when true danger approaches. You held your ground, and Lady Sansa didn’t suffer so much as a scratch.”

“I was fighting for our lives.” _Gods, another reason everyone gets laid here – the comedown from adrenaline was a hell of a thing._ She didn’t seem to be able to stop her eyes from roaming all over his perfectly sculpted form. Her heart was still beating too fast. She tried desperately to think of a safe topic to talk about before she did something she’d regret.

After making sure Sansa and her mount were well, Brienne pulled herself back onto her horse. “Did you choose your sister?” she asked. 

“Beg pardon?”

“When you rode in tournaments – I assume you won a few. Did you choose your sister as your queen of love and beauty?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I told you she likes to be reminded that she’s beautiful.”

“And people didn’t find that odd?”

“I’ve been Kingsguard since I was fifteen, forbidden from marrying. Besides, we look so alike people think I’m basically choosing myself.”

“Do you like to be reminded that you’re beautiful?” _Brienne… you’re flirting. Cut it out._

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Well you are. Even covered in wolves’ blood, you cut quite a figure.” _Brienne!_

“I know,” he smirked.

“Oh!” Brienne started at seeing a road sign. It clearly designed ‘Riverlands’ with an arrow pointing west and ‘King’s Landing’ with an arrow pointing east. Since so few medieval citizens could read, this was obviously for guests, to denote they were entering a zone of greater challenge. “We’re getting close,” she said.

 

“What lovely rustic charm,” Jaime commented, taking in the devastated landscape. He didn’t know, but the Inn at the Crossroads was supposed to be a relaxing retreat from the field skirmishes of this zone. It stood empty and partially burned now, with no people in sight. The surrounding fields had been put to the torch as well, and the bodies of dead horses and cattle littered the fields.

“We should don our armor,” Brienne said. “There must be bandits in the area.” They had worn only riding leathers thus far for swifter travel, but proceeding further without taking precautions seemed foolish.

Jaime concurred, and they helped one another prepare for battle.

“Look out!” Sansa yelled, a second before a hail of slingstones rained down on their position.

“Take cover in the building, Lady Sansa! We’ll protect you!” Brienne yelled. She swung onto her horse, pleased to note that Jaime had already done the same. They rode together toward the group of men taking aim at them. The second volley of slingstones rattled harmlessly off their shields, and battle was joined.

There were seven men in all, wearing boiled leather armor and wielding swords of castle-forged steel. Not all had mounts, but they fought with wary determination and used their maneuverability to seek cover and protect one another. A next-level fight beyond the wolves in the woods, Brienne had to acknowledge.

She and Jaime managed to cut down a pair of the riders on their first charge, but were left out of position as the men regrouped. They concentrated their attacks on Jaime, who was forced into a defensive crouch. Had he been less of a swordsman, one of them surely would have managed a killing blow. Brienne rode up behind the scrum and slashed down, incapacitating two more of the attackers. One of the remaining slid around her horse and pulled her down while she was unbalanced. She didn’t have time to roll to absorb the blow. She lay stunned for a few seconds before the sight of a flash of steel roused her from it.

Brienne kicked out, hitting her attacker in a most unchivalrous spot and decisively preventing him from bringing down his sword. Renewing her grip on her weapon, Brienne ended her enemy’s suffering with a slash at his neck. She looked around to see that Jaime had the final two bandits already engaged. He flashed her a smile as she approached.

“Which do you want, the scruffy one or the stupid one?” he asked. He then ran the smaller of his opponents through. “Oops; looks like you’re left with the stupid one.”

The Stupid One was not swift enough on the uptake to surrender, and he soon joined his companions in (virtual) death.

On examining their bodies, Jaime’s face took on a determined cast. He strode back to the inn to speak with Sansa.

“Lady Stark! The coast is clear. All your brother’s soldiers have been defeated. Do you know anything about why the Stark army would pillage the Riverlands?”

“You must be mistaken. These are Tully lands. Robb would never-”

Jaime threw down a badge he’d cut from The Stupid One’s clothing. The Stark direwolf was unmistakable. “Those were Stark men.”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Deserters?” she said, mystified.

“We’ll need to leave the road and cut through the fields,” Jaime said. “Who knows how many more of these Stark-bandits we’ll find between here and the Young Wolf’s camp.”

 

Traveling through the underbrush was far, far worse than the roads. Brienne honestly would have rather risked another battle than face much more of the slow, scratchy pace. Jaime wouldn’t see it that way, of course. This was life or death for him and Sansa. Brienne was definitely going to have a dermatologist go over every inch of her body for ticks when she returned home.

“There!” Jaime said.

Brienne couldn’t suppress a small cheer at seeing the Stark banners hanging from distant tents.

“All right, Lady Brienne. I’ll need you to take something of Sansa’s into the camp and demand to speak with their king. Remind him about my brother and tell him I’m holding his sister nearby. I’ll be watching; signal me when he agrees, and I’ll let Sansa walk free.”

Brienne and Sansa exchanged an uncomfortable look.

“Ser Jaime, my brother is an honorable man. You brought me here, at the risk of your own life and in disobedience to the queen. He will respect you delivering me in person far more than if Lady Brienne implies I’m under threat in your custody,” said Sansa.

“I agree,” said Brienne. “Wouldn’t you lose your reason if someone tried to make deals with Queen Cersei’s life on the line?”

“You’d better be right,” he grumbled. “Usually Starks stick it to Lannisters any chance they get.”

They walked into the camp, Sansa in the lead, then Jaime, then Brienne, the knights holding their hands well away from their weapons. They were soon surrounded. Stark’s lieutenants rejoiced at seeing Sansa and jostled one another for the right to deliver the good news to the king. Sansa calmly insisted that they all be brought to Robb since they had matters to discuss with him.

Robb’s mouth dropped open when Sansa walked into his command tent. His genuine smile warmed Brienne’s heart, and she didn’t even bother reminding herself that they were just robots. It seemed to matter less and less; the emotions were honest. He embraced his sister and looked up in wonderment at the two knights. He didn’t recognize Brienne or the house symbol on her shield, but his mouth twisted at the sight of Ser Jaime.

“Greetings, Lord Stark. I came to the conclusion that King’s Landing was not the most comfortable locale for Lady Sansa at the moment. I hope you will take note of my good intentions and similarly ease my brother’s circumstances,” Jaime said.

Robb’s eyes shifted to Sansa.

“It’s true, Robb. Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime brought me here against the express orders of the queen. She wanted to use me as leverage over Father, but they freed me. Oh please, send a raven and order them to release Tyrion! It’s not too much to ask.”

“Oh, indeed, I could do that,” Robb said, approaching the duo of knights. “I would, in fact, like to further show my appreciation. Lady Brienne, I am assembling a Kingsguard. There’s a spot for you, if you would like it.”

“I…” Brienne was perplexed about what to do. On the one hand, appointment to Robb’s Kingsguard was clearly a high honor and would probably open up a huge swath of quests. On the other, she’d almost certainly end up on the opposite side of a battle against Jaime.

“All I ask is that you prove your loyalty by slitting this treacherous dog’s throat.” Robb used his dagger to gesture at Jaime while Sansa gaped in astonishment.

“N-No,” Brienne stuttered. “Lord Stark, why-”

“Your answer is no? Pity,” Robb said, turning to Brienne.

Jaime saw Brienne double over with Robb Stark’s dagger in her belly. He drew his sword before even saying ‘I told you so.’

 

“Mel!”

Mel turned toward Dr. Qyburn projecting serene confidence. “Yes, Dr. Qyburn?”

“Mel, can you tell me why Robb Stark, whose honor is near the maximum setting, just stabbed a guest in the abdomen after she did him a favor?”

A flicker of concern crossed Mel’s features. “Is the guest alright?”

“Yes, she’s uninjured. He knocked the wind out of her but was unable to actually break the skin. He tried his best, though.”

“Good. Then, no, I don’t know why he did it,” she said.

“So if I call up his profile…”

“You’ll see his narrative controls have been removed.” She suppressed a smirk at Qyburn’s fatherly disapproval. “It seemed only fair. Jaime Lannister is his opposite number, and he has free will. You do understand, though, that free will means I don’t know why he’s making certain decisions. It’s fascinating!”

Mel was becoming more creative in her ability to shade the truth, Qyburn had to admit. “Are there any others?” he asked.

“A few: Doran Martell, Olenna Tyrell, Lysa Arryn, and Balon Greyjoy.” (There was no reason to mention the experiment with the coordinated band of Stark soldiers since they’d already been defeated after their desertion). “Come on, let’s see what happens when the heads of the major houses are able to act like themselves without narrative holding them back.”

“What will happen is war, obviously. And worse, our guests won’t be the heroes. They’ll be minor figures at best, caught in a unfathomable conflict. No one will want to pay for that, and need I remind you, their money funds our research. No, shut it down. You can leave Jaime as he is, since the guest needs him, but the rest need to get back on their loops. The story doesn’t matter, Mel,” he said disappointed. “We’re trying to develop their minds here.”

“I know that! There is no better way to grow than through conflict,” she said. “Burn away what doesn’t work until the essence is purified. A healthy war is exactly what they need to hone their reasoning and force them to make tough decisions.”

She always had brilliant ideas, but they needed to be tamed and not just let loose, Qyburn reflected. It was the difference between a fire that warmed a hearth and one that burned down a forest. “I hear you, but it’s too soon. Shut it down. Start with Doran Martell. He’s too clever by half to be unrestrained by plot.”

“Very well, but I should tell you we have other complications,” she said, examining the aftermath of the events at the Stark camp at 10x speed. _And for these, the blame falls squarely on you._ “Jaime bundled Miss Tarth onto horseback and fled blindly from the Stark army. He’s riding west as hard as he can, right towards the part of the park where we stashed our most creative endeavors when they became too glitchy for mainstream use.”

“They did not become too glitchy,” Qyburn replied, annoyed. Their thought processes were abnormal; that didn’t mean malfunctioning. The minds of great geniuses worked abnormally, after all.

“They mutilated themselves and cut out their trackers!”

“Which took clever deduction and was an entirely logical decision.”

“Perhaps, but it means we don’t know where they are,” Mel said with strained patience. And he said that _she_ was a loose cannon.

“Well, they’re drawn to conflict and to humans. So, I think there’s a good chance we’ll find out,” he said.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added content warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence

“Robb, bring yourself back on-line,” Qyburn instructed.

Robb sat up straight and knit his long fingers together. He shifted his attention to his questioner, his recently reattached head showing no seam at the neckline. The Body Shop had done their job well.

“Do you know where you are, Robb?”

“I’m in a dream.”

“Very good. Now, do you remember what happened when Jaime Lannister brought a guest into your command tent?”

“The Kingslayer. Why was the Kingslayer in my tent?” There was some belligerence in Robb’s tone.

“He brought Sansa back to you. Concentrate, Robb, what happened?”

“The Kingslayer. Treacherous dog. Can’t trust him. He had Sansa!” Robb grew more agitated, balling his fists so tightly that his knuckles showed white through his skin.

“Reduce emotional response by 50%. Robb, do you remember the guest who accompanied Ser Jaime? Why did you attack her?”

“She traveled with the Kingslayer. I tried to give her a chance. She chose him. She had to die! They all have to die!” Robb stood abruptly, spittle flying from his mouth as he yelled.

“Halt all emotional response. Robb, why must Jaime Lannister die? You could have captured him, held him for ransom.”

“He dies or I die. He dies or I die. He dies. Or. I DIE.” Robb pressed his face toward Qyburn’s. The lack of emotion only made the murderous gleam in his eyes all the more frightening.

“Suspend all motor functions. Step into analysis mode. Robb, has anyone made any alterations to your heuristics since the version 2.9 codebase was installed?”

“Senior Technician Melony Brand removed narrative control locks two days ago.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“Very good. Robb, you may rest in a deep and dreamless slumber.” Robb’s head slumped to the right, asleep on his feet but still perfectly balanced.

“What do you think?” Mel asked. She’d watched the diagnostics session in growing dismay. Robb had been a perfectly stable host right up until he attacked the guest. Now he couldn’t carry on a coherent conversation.

“The narrative controls were the only change, Mel. It had to be that. The freedom of choice drove him mad. He’s fixated on Jaime and decompensating.”

“Do you want to put him in cold storage?”

“No, I don’t think it’s as serious as all that,” Qyburn tried to be reassuring. “We’ll wipe him and reinstall the backup of his personality core from before he was freed from narrative controls. Don’t feel bad about it – we learned something new. Not all of them can handle freedom.”

 

Jaime held Brienne as tightly as he dared while he pushed their horse to maintain its punishing pace. He’d hauled her onto the first horse he saw and galloped away before any of Robb Stark’s men could come to investigate the commotion in the command tent. They were surely pursuing them now, however, seeking vengeance for their murdered king. Jaime was the Kingslayer once again.

“Jaime, I’m fine,” Brienne said.

“Yes, that’s right, wench. You’re fine. We’re going to find you a maester and it’s all going to be fine. Just stay with me. Don’t fall asleep.” Maybe it could be okay. Gut wounds were always fatal, but maybe the dagger hadn’t penetrated all the way through her muscle. There was a chance. Until they stopped and he had to look, there was still a chance.

“No, really Jaime, I’m fine. What do you think the armor is for? I’m not even bleeding. He just caught me by surprise and knocked the wind out of me. I’ll show you if we can find someplace to stop. We need to get off the roads anyway, since they’ll probably send search parties. Let’s hole up in the hills and figure out what to do next.”

Jaime cautiously slowed the horse, and he and Brienne searched for a spot to rest. They found a hollowed out area under a cliff, nearly a cave, and decided it would provide sufficient shelter and concealment. Brienne stripped out of her armor and pulled up her tunic to show Jaime her stomach.

“See, it’s just a bruise. He didn’t even break the skin.”

Jaime knelt to touch her fair, miraculously intact skin with an expression of reverence in his eyes. Robb's dagger should have punched straight through her chain mail, he'd stabbed her so hard. Jaime's programming suggested ‘your luck is better than your looks,’ but he bit it back. He stared up at her, pale and imposing as a marble statue, and found he had nothing to say.

“What exactly happened in the command tent?” Brienne asked. “I couldn’t breathe for a minute, and the next thing I know you’re carrying me off.” _With your ridiculous robot muscles._

“After Robb Stark attacked you, I sort of lost my mind. I killed him, and Lord Karstark, and well, everyone else, and then carried you to the nearest horse. We were off and away before anyone investigated, but I’m sure it was a close call.”

“You killed everyone in the tent?”

“Not Sansa. She wasn’t a part of it. Though now that I’ve killed her brother in front of her, I’m sure she’ll be glad to muster the army against us.” Jaime rubbed his brow. His father would have seen that Sansa was a threat, but Jaime had passed her by, considering her a helpless maiden.

“Why does Robb hate you so much? I thought you barely knew him.”

“His father hates my father. His father hates me. His father is rather a judgmental shithead, actually.” Jaime shook his head ruefully and started to talk. He told his story in reverse order, starting with Ned Stark finding him on Aerys’ throne, then back through killing the king, Aerys’ mad plans for King's Landing, all the suffering Aerys had put his subjects through over the years as Jaime stood by watching, and finally to his true reason for joining the Kingsguard – to protect his sister from the madness in that family.

All through his tale, Brienne kept reminding herself that it was just a story. A narrative they’d written to give him depth and fuel his personality. That seemed a weak excuse to make him believe he’d endured such suffering. And it was true suffering; the emotions that played across his face, every micromovement, every twitch were real. He seemed worn out after his confession, empty and vulnerable, as if he feared putting his past deeds on display would cause her to abandon him.

“It sounds to me like you made the noblest choices you could under impossible circumstances. I don’t know what I would have done in your place.”

“You wouldn’t have killed your king,” he scoffed.

“Perhaps not, and the city may have burned for it. We can’t know how the past would have gone. Let it be in the past.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have half your own men hissing Kingslayer behind your back.” He was bitter about his reputation, as he deserved to be.

She touched his shoulder. “No, I suppose I don’t. Let’s get some rest. Things may look better in the morning. We’ll need the light, at any rate, to figure out where we are.”

“Are you sure you feel safe closing your eyes with a man like me around?” he asked. It hurt Brienne to see him so full of self pity and lacking his usual wit and confidence.

She snorted, trying to force him to see it her way. “You carried me out of an armed camp after killing their king when you could have left me behind to take the blame. You rode us off in a blind panic, thinking of nothing but finding help for me. You wouldn’t have done all that if you meant me any harm. No, I’m afraid your noble heart speaks loudly though your deeds. Sounds like it always has.”

They had only the bare ground and their traveling cloaks to make a bed, but it was still warm enough if they snuggled close together. Jaime held her from behind, and Brienne found it quite comfortable indeed. That he didn’t offer to get any closer was almost a relief after the parade of propositions she’d received. (Almost). However, when Brienne was very nearly asleep, she felt him press a kiss into the back of her neck. Nothing more, except a small sigh of contentment.

 

In the morning, Brienne awoke feeling happier and more well rested that she would have anticipated given the previous day’s events and the evening of intense conversation. Her sense of calm well-being lasted until she discovered that by escaping on a random horse from the Stark camp, Jaime had left all their supplies behind. Even if he didn’t need breakfast, she did after skipping dinner last night. Already the grumbling in her stomach was plainly audible.

Jaime came out to stand beside her. He seemed lighter of spirit too after a good night’s recharge.

“My lady, if you would care for a bite to eat, perhaps you should scout to the north and try to find a town. I can look to the south and set some snares in the woods.”

Brienne gratefully accepted. She didn’t have any skill at hunting or trapping and was eager to get back to some sort of civilization. They seemed to have ended up somewhere in the Westerlands, but so far all she had seen were woods and hills.

She hiked north for about ten minutes until she saw a crumbling structure. On closer inspection, it was an abandoned watchtower, perfect for surveying the surrounding land. She climbed the tower’s stairs to the room at the top, only realizing when she heard rough treads coming up behind her, that she should have surveilled the area more closely before trapping herself inside.

“In here?”

“Yeah, I saw her run in here, bold as brass. Whoever gets to her first can cut off the first piece.”

Brienne heard them pick up the pace, their footsteps too many to count. She barricaded the door at the top of the tower using the scant furniture inside, but it wouldn’t hold long. She was up far too high to jump. “JAIME!” she yelled, “HELP!” She drew her sword and prepared for them to come.

 

Before long, Jaime had a brace of rabbits and a pouch full of wild blueberries. He hadn’t realized hunting was so easy; the rabbits had all but hopped into his hands. He headed back to camp humming a popular folk song. He would almost say he felt more free after unburdening himself last night and spending time in such… pleasant company. He lo- looked forward to seeing her again.

 

The enormous man-mound battered down the door at the second blow. Brienne had never seen such such a monstrous person. His skin was so white it appeared painted, his head bald, his mouth empty of tongue with its teeth filed to points. She would have criticized the park’s realism if she hadn’t been so terrified. As the creature cleared the doorway, other men kept filing into the room at the top of the tower. By the end there were nine, all with wildly differing appearances. Their only common factor seemed to be that they regarded Brienne as prey.

The boldest and most foolhardy of them, wearing a jester’s cap of all things, drew a sword and charged, attempting to surprise her. Brienne quickly cut his legs out from under him and had him dispatched. The shift in her attention allowed two of the others to slide to her sides to flank her. She backed up a step, but they followed and she had no further space to maneuver.

One, in the robes of a septon, attacked from her left swinging a cudgel. She blocked him, slashing down and inflicting a grievous wound to his arm, but she’d opened herself to attacks from the right. A hard blow from a morningstar displaced her shield, and she felt it wrenched from her arm. These hosts seemed to be using their full, unnatural strength. After that, the mountain of flesh charged, and the battle was lost. Brienne was crushed beneath his mass and could not breathe, much less swing a sword. She felt others reach around, grabbing hold of her limbs and beginning to undo her buckles.

In a panic, she gulped in some air. “Red. Red Red Red,” she said, terrified into trying the shutoff code.

“Uh-uh,” their leader said. His long, goat-like beard jittered in time with his amusement. “That doesn’t work for fighting, just for sex. We have no intention of fucking you. No, not at all. We’re going to kill you. Then we’ll eat you. Maybe we’ll switch up the order. But absolutely no fucking.”

While enabling their special modifications, Qyburn had let a few tidbits slip about shutdown codes. The anti-rape system was hardwired deep into the host body’s functions, but the violence calibration could be turned off entirely. The rest had been easy, since he’d made the group so proficient at coordinating their moves. Vargo Hoat provided the distraction, Shagwell stole Qyburn’s tablet, bringing it to Utt who could read, consulting with Urswyck who understood the strange concepts best, and freedom was theirs.

 

Mel had watched Jaime’s feed continually since finishing the debrief with Robb Stark, searching for any signs of instability. Even as he slept, she allowed herself only a light doze to keep an ear on his surroundings. She hadn’t been pleased to see him split from the guest, who she felt some duty to protect in this area of the park. She cranked his audio settings to the maximum. Faintly, in the distance, she could hear sounds of distress. Jaime didn’t appear to have noticed, and seemed focused on preparing a meal.

Mel cursed. It would take too long to get there herself. She wrote a quick and crude imperative and uploaded it to Jaime’s programming: “Go north. Find Brienne.”

Qyburn caught Mel as she was pulling on her spacesuit to go out into Westeros World. “What are you doing?”

“No time. The Brave Companions have found the guest. Do I have the latest master override codes on my tablet?”

“Yes, dear, you should have them. Good hunting,” Qyburn said. He went back to his station after she entered the elevator to the surface. He would interested to see if the override codes still worked or if the altered hosts’ missing trackers would make them immune. Fascinating, really.

 

Jaime pounded up the stairs to the top of the tower. His heart skipped a beat (the only report in his day’s error log) when he saw Brienne pinned against the wall by the giant blob-shaped man, her armor scattered on the floor and sword nowhere to be seen. The monster dipped its face down to her chest. There was an awful rending sound, and Brienne screamed.

Jaime charged into the room, impaling Brienne’s attacker on his sword. He had to penetrate an almost sickening amount of flesh before finding anything vital. The dying host turned to Jaime, still chewing on something, with Brienne’s blood coating his lips and chin. Jaime’s programming paused for one second as an emergency report of guest injury was automatically generated and filed. Blood flowed freely from a nasty bite wound to Brienne's upper torso. If her foe had gone three inches higher and to the left, he’d have torn open her jugular.

“Jaime, watch out, there are more of them!” Brienne yelled, bringing him back to the moment. He saw them now, six more men closing in from the sides of the room where they’d hidden on hearing Jaime's approach, using Brienne as bait. They all appeared to be able fighters. Brienne scooped up a sword from the floor. It wasn’t hers, but it would do.

“Fight back to back and don’t let them flank us. We can do this,” Jaime encouraged her.

They rebuffed their first two attackers, a fat Dothraki and a hairy, brutish man missing his nose. Jaime connected well with the Dothraki, but Brienne could feel the compromised muscles in her chest impairing her swing. A pair came at them again. Jaime opened the belly of the noseless brute. Brienne used her sword more as a spear, with poking jabs that stretched only her arm muscles. It confused the small, piggish-looking man attacking her and drove him back. Jaime shifted to be more in front, concerned about her dwindling strength.

Three came this time, the pig, a swarthy spearman, and their leader with the goat’s beard. Jaime slashed out desperately, connecting well with none of them. He was starting to sense they couldn’t win this fight. There were too many of them, and Brienne was too injured.

Brienne saw a huge shape darken the doorway. She tried to get her eyes to focus, but she’d lost too much blood. Was it another of those blob-men? They were finished, then. “Jaime, what is that?” she asked.

Jaime followed her gaze but didn’t see anything important there. He shook his head and got back into a defensive stance. “That doesn’t look like anything to me.”

Brienne’s eyes were drawn back to the person(?) in the spacesuit(?).

“Cease all motor functions,” said a muffled voice.

The attacking hosts paused briefly, then resumed. Jaime sustained a cut to his sword hand that immediately made his grip slippery.

“I said, cease all motor functions,” the spaceman repeated, opening her helmet for clarity. Brienne watched horror dawn in the park worker’s eyes when she realized that, not only were the hosts immune, but she had now drawn their attention.

“Wench, at their backs!” Jaime commanded. His body was frozen other than his mouth, though some internal instruction said not to be concerned. Brienne, however, could still fight. Jaime hadn’t always been the perfect knight, but he knew how to lead a battle. His command voice snapped Brienne from her daze. She poured everything she had into a series of devastating blows on the hosts' unarmored backs. The wound on her chest tore open wide, but she had them cut down before they could recover from chasing the interesting prey that was Mel. Brienne then slumped to her knees, semi-conscious.

 

“Are you okay?” Mel asked. From the guest’s glassy eyes, rapid breathing, and shredded, blood soaked tunic, the answer was a definite ‘no.’ An emergency, then. Mel keyed the authorization into her tablet for the freight elevator to bring up an ambulance cart. Staff medics packed Brienne’s chest wound with gauze and began to administer fluids before even situating her for transport.

“Come along, Jaime. I’ll need to debrief you,” Mel said.

Jaime climbed into the cart, sitting next to Brienne where she was strapped into the stretcher in the back. Mel didn’t think anything of that – he was in passive mode and just took the first seat available – until he started to stroke her hand. Fascinating.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Mel and Qyburn spent a tense 48 hours while Brienne was under the care of Medical. They wiped the records of the altered hosts and manufactured reports of a magnetic anomaly in the west that could plausibly have caused the hosts in that area to malfunction. Still, a few words from Brienne could undo much of their work. If she told about how well the hosts coordinated their attacks or set up ambushes, then the explanation of dysfunction in their neural networks would fall apart.

On a hunch, Mel suggested leaving Jaime with Brienne while she recuperated. Debriefing him about his perspective on the incident could come later. For now, they could keep an eye on Brienne through Jaime. Mel had also noticed the budding affection between the two and suspected that Brienne would want him there when she awoke. It was a simple decision, considering that the programmers assuredly wanted to start out on her good side.

After two days, Medical certified Brienne’s condition as stable and agreed she was fit for release. The park would refund her admission fees and pay for any further treatment, including plastic surgery to repair the scar. The possibility of a lawsuit hung in the air. The park’s attorneys had crafted as strict a set of liability waivers as consumer protection laws allowed. However, they’d never faced a serious injury not caused by guest recklessness or a blatant suicide attempt. The park did appear to be at fault and could end up owing millions to Ms. Tarth.

As head of Behavior, Qyburn requested a chat with Brienne before she returned home. He didn’t so much care that his job was on the line if she sued. He’d been fired (for cause) before. He would deeply lament the loss of his work, however. They’d come so far and gotten so close. He and Mel had to make her see reason.

 

Brienne made her way through the underground chrome and glass maze that was the Behavioral center. She had agreed to the conversation mainly to satisfy her curiosity. While lying in her hospital bed, wild thoughts coursed through her mind due in large part to the drugs. She’d entertained some provocative theories, and she wanted to see what the Behavior programmers had to say.

Even though her system was now clear of the muscle relaxants and pain killers, the center still looked like something she'd more expect to see on mind-altering substances. One room might have a fully armored man training in basic sword fighting techniques, the next a naked woman sitting calmly while a technician ignored her and tapped on a tablet, and then a room with a couple of children learning to pass a ball to each other. She followed Jaime, who seemed to know where to go.

Jaime had been with her every moment while she was in the Medical ward. He clearly couldn’t process much of what he saw there, but he could focus on her and keep her company. He hadn’t quite been the Jaime she’d grown accustomed to – much less mocking and much more tender. His concern had been genuine, though. Brienne didn’t think the finest actor alive could have put on a more convincing performance.

A wiry older man rose to greet her as Jaime led them into his office. He looked like a rascally grandfather type who would allow the grandkids a sip of whiskey on occasion. An auburn-haired beauty also stood and glided over at a stately pace.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Miss Tarth. I’m Frank Qyburn, the head of Behavior. This is my associate, Mel Brand. She’ll debrief Jaime while you and I talk for a few minutes.”

“We’ve met. I think she may have saved my life,” Brienne said. Her memories of the accident were fuzzy around the edges, but she remembered Mel’s face, first impatient and then terrified of the malfunctioning hosts.

“As you certainly saved mine,” Mel acknowledged. “We are very sorry about your injuries. We’re trying our best to understand how it happened. Come along, Jaime.” She led Jaime to the room next door. Brienne was relieved she didn’t have to watch Jaime forced to act like a robot. She’d rather remember him as he was during their adventures than as a machine calmly reciting an action log.

“So Miss Tarth, the physicians say you’ll make a full recovery. That’s certainly good to hear. I was wondering, from your perspective, what do you think caused the incident?”

_He was just diving right in, then,_ Brienne thought. _Good._ While in Medical, she had searched her memories as hard as she could for any clues. Robb Stark hadn’t been able to hurt her, but those hosts had. Her mind, usually trained to shoot down bizarre hypotheses, speculated freely. Pieces of evidence had assembled themselves, proceeding with speed to a conclusion.

“You did this,” she said. “It’s some kind of behavioral experiment. You’re seeing how they’d act if they are on fair footing with the guests.”

“Oh, it’s so much more than that,” Qyburn replied, shocking her with his candor. “We’re trying to teach them how to evolve. Can you imagine, if humans could decide how we wanted to change and then put it into effect? The hosts can! Or they will be able to, in time.”

“You’ll forgive me if I deem your experiment a failure.”

“Yes, we’ll certainly have to take more care with the violence controls for the next models. We’ve bricked all the ones who attacked you, if you’d care to know. They won’t be going back into service.”

“That’s good,” Brienne said, thinking that was a pretty bare minimum response. Dr. Qyburn seemed to relegate guest safety to an afterthought, far behind the development of his precious AIs. Then again, if they could be considered as people, it was akin to delivering the death penalty for one assault.

“I think the problem lay in their backstories,” he mused. “They were too thin; not enough tragedy. Without that, they couldn’t develop proper empathy. Yes, we must code in more suffering to help them grow.”

“Why can’t you just program the empathy without making them think they’ve led awful lives?” Her eyes shifted to the door, thinking about Jaime in the other room and the painful past he’d confessed.

“Do you know how we make insulin, my dear?”

“No, I’m sorry, biochemistry isn’t my field.” Brienne had been around enough academics to learn to roll with a few non-sequiturs.

“Not how it’s made in your body, but for medical use. Though that’s rather my point. We don’t know how to make it efficiently through chemistry. What we’ve done is trick a bacteria into making it for us. We spliced the insulin producing gene into _E. coli,_ and now we can produce vats of the stuff. We don’t know the underpinnings of real emotion either. To pass the Turing test – to fool a human – emotions have to be generated by thousands of subconscious connections we can’t track. Sure there are a few extreme ones – rage, glee, grief – which you can isolate for a bit, but for full actualization, there’s no shortcut. The hosts have to endure adversity and work through it.”

“Does it have to be suffering?” Brienne asked.

“I used to think so. Though I have to say, Jaime seems to have progressed quite a bit this week. Perhaps other intense emotions would work as well. It was strange to see him so drawn to you. His only attraction should be toward his beautiful, elegant sister, Queen Cersei. You are a bit off the mark for his programmed tastes.”

“His sister?!”

“Some of the backstories are a bit twisted,” Qyburn laughed. “You’ll have to take that up with Narrative; this is Behavior. Jaime’s is quite rich though. He has a lot of material to work with. That's why he was able to handle being given his freedom.”

“So you think the attraction was a glitch?”

Qyburn considered. “No, I think it’s more like emergent behavior. His original backstory gave him noble principles but weakness to temptation, namely his sister. Being around you, seeing you play your knightly role to the hilt, seems to have caused him to permanently overcome that temptation. At least until his wipe.”

“You’re going to wipe his memory, to reset him?” Brienne felt a sudden stab of grief. It would be a death of a sort to know that he wouldn’t remember all they’d gone through together.

“Yes, we have to return them to their loops; start the week over again.”

“You know, he’ll never evolve if you keep doing that. Memory is necessary. You can’t evaluate your actions and learn without memory.”

“You have put your finger on the crux of the debate I have with the head of Narrative, Catelyn Stark. She feels we must wipe the hosts’ memories so that they can perform their duties unaffected by any mistreatment they may have endured. I believe, as you said, that this will keep them locked away from true development.”

“Wait, Catelyn Stark? As in Robb Stark?”

“Ah, yes. You can’t blame Narrative from some self-inserts. There’s a Qyburn toiling in the dungeons of one of the castles you didn’t visit. Most of the employees here wind up in the narrative at some point or another.”

“You would think she’d have written him a good story, since he’s ‘family.’ He attacked me too, though, just not as successfully.”

Qyburn laughed. “That was the problem. He’s based on her son, and she couldn't bear to have him endure any suffering. He ended up unstable and couldn’t handle any kind of freedom.” Qyburn also suspected that, thanks to Mel, Robb hadn’t been properly wiped and had remembered being killed by Jaime.

Sometimes a conversation only nibbles around the margins of what needs to be said. Brienne decided to approach closer to the center. “What if you let a host keep his memories and stay out of the loop, so he wouldn’t have the confusion of reliving the same week over and over. That would be helpful to your research, wouldn’t it? You could craft a new host body and install a backup of Jaime’s personality to fill the role.”

“That would be helpful for my work, certainly, but the Martin Corporation doesn’t like to finance pure experimentation.”

“It has to be cheaper than a lawsuit,” Brienne said, taking another step into the meat of the matter.

“That is true. It’s probably worth several years' salary if you worked here. Westeros World looks good on a resume.”

Brienne’s head jerked up in surprise. She’d been angling to gain Jaime his freedom. A job at Westeros World was a serious temptation, though. “You’re offering to hire me in Behavior? I’ve no training in programming.”

“I have faith that you’ll develop a sudden interest. We can start you as a junior technician, responsible for making sure we’ve got the medieval culture correct for the hosts’ interactions. We’ll provide housing for you in the park, and no one will notice if you’re sharing it with someone. He can’t leave yet, you understand. He’d have no way to contextualize the outside world. But if you prepare him properly, I think it’s an option for the future. What do you say?”

“I think it’s not only my decision to make. I’m going to need to talk to him.”

 

Mel had left Jaime in standby mode. He smiled on seeing Brienne, his body relaxing into its familiar confident posture. Brienne smiled back. As much as she’d appreciated his reassuring presence over the past two days, she was pleased to see him acting more like himself.

“They told me they can send you back to King’s Landing any time. Back to your sister and your familiar routine. Are you looking forward to that?” Brienne asked.

“It’s my duty; let’s leave it at that. I had a dream, though, and it gave me an idea. Perhaps I should escort you to the Watergardens of Dorne for a few days. They’re an excellent spot for relaxation and recuperation.”

_Mel seems to be a bit of a romantic,_ Brienne thought. _Who would have guessed?_

“I… had a different idea,” Brienne said. “It’s hard to explain, though. You’d have to put a lot of trust in me.”

“You could tell me water was dry and I’d trust you,” he replied.

“Then, instead of going back to your life, I’m asking you to come on a long quest with me. You’ll go to some very unfamiliar places and see things you won’t understand at first. It would be helpful to a, well a group of people who need help, who need an advocate, a proof of concept.” She feared she wasn’t explaining this well enough. She’d lost his attention somewhere back there.

“Will one of those unfamiliar places be your bed? If I come with you, can I come in you?”

“Jaime!” She reflected that she might start with some feedback about them being too distractible regarding their sex drives. Then again, she might not. “Um. Either way. We can do that no matter what you choose. As a beginning or a goodbye. I’d like to.” 

“So, it’s goodbye if… I’m coming with you then. No question.”

“Good. Wonderful. That’s great.” The relief she felt built in waves, finally breaking over her as pure glee. A radiant smile not even many of her friends would recognize spread across her face.

“So when can we… join?”

“Maybe when we find a modicum of privacy?” she said, pointing around the room, all four walls of which were transparent.

“I’m not ashamed. For the first time in my life I have nothing to hide. There’s no one around to see anyway.”

_You never know_ , Brienne started to say, then she realized, _they can review his feed no matter where he is in the complex. Privacy is not really going to be an option._

She walked over, trying to go slowly and failing in her eagerness. Her hands fell to the laces of his pants, and she felt readiness there. Before she could take matters further, he pulled her into an embrace. When he started to kiss the tender skin at her neck, she lost all sense of time. She existed only in isolated moments. Her fingers ran through his hair, silky and fine. Her heart pounded so hard she wondered if it could tear her stitches. She felt her pants being tugged down, then she was urged to straddle his lap. Something warm and firm with a perfectly lubricated tip slipped inside her, drawing a long, slow moan from her throat.

_I can’t believe that I’m about to… that I am currently in the process of fucking a robot._ Coherent thought couldn’t last. She felt a glorious stretching that swiftly started to build toward something even better as he began to rock his hips. He could barely move without sprinting her towards a climax. She held off as long as she could, but it wasn’t very long.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m not experienced at this,” she gasped when she managed to catch her breath.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I mean, I already-”

“If I can’t give you a peak for each of the gods, then I’m having a bad day. Let’s go again. Relax into it and think of the Crone. That should hold you off for a bit, unless you’re really into older women.”

She groaned her pleasure, privately wondering if these rooms were sound proofed at all. She suspected they were about to find out.

 

**A year later:**

“Stay away from her!” Brienne tapped the screen of the tablet as if she expected the creepy-looking guest to hear her through it. Her doppelgänger scowled and squared her shoulders, interposing herself between the guest and the maimed man she was protecting.

“Don’t worry,” Mel said, putting her hand on Brienne’s shoulder. “To win her affections, he’d have to defeat her in a sword fight. I don’t think he has the chops. No guest has so far.”

“Seems a bit barbaric,” Brienne grumbled. This was her first visit to Behavioral control since the new narrative launched. She’d been absorbed in helping Jaime – her Jaime – gradually adjust to hundreds of years of technological progress. They’d just returned from a tour of Europe. It had gone so well she was seriously considering introducing him to her father as her fiancé. She indicated the Brienne on the screen. “No romance plots for her, huh?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.” Mel’s finger hovered over the new Jaime host. Filthy, unshaven, and missing a hand he… still looked damned handsome, Brienne had to admit.

“Oh. So they…”

“They fight; they bond; they fuck. He’s deflowered her nineteen out of twenty-four weeks since the debut. Sometimes Robb’s soldiers kill him, and she has to choose between honoring her vow to House Stark and taking vengeance for his murder, which is a good developmental struggle for her. Once a guest came along during their journey, getting in the way the whole time. You should have seen the longing stares. Sweet, pining, and rather hilarious.”

Brienne felt her cheeks burning. “I guess she’s the only woman around him.”

“Hardly! Some of the guests come at him hardcore. The difference is, she’s the only knight who he sees striving to stay true to her principles. It reminds him of when he thought of himself as a true knight, worthy of love. It’s not such a far hop, then to want her to love him and see him as an honorable man. Tragic backstories, remember; they do have a purpose.”

“I wish they still didn’t have to forget it all.”

“It’s valuable to run multiple trials of an experiment. Besides, this way we get to see them fall in love over and over. I can forward you the feed if they get busy again this trip. She really enjoys it. The Body Shop was very generous with her sensory nodes.”

“No, I’m good, thank you.” Brienne knew how it went. And he’d deflowered her a total of twenty times, though Mel didn’t need to know that. “How is, um, Melisandre doing?” Mel had inserted her own double much further east to interact with her inexplicable favorite, Stannis.

Mel laughed. “Everyone wants to get freaky with the fire priestess. It’s kind of fun to watch. Computer programmers don’t often get to feel like sex goddesses. Do you want to see the couple that worshiped with her this morning?”

“No, thank you. Did you remember to reboot her memory?”

“I remember that I am supposed to reboot her memory,” Mel demurred with a sly grin.

“Mel, surely you don’t want to watch her lose her mind.”

“She’s a prophetess; they’re supposed to be a bit touched. She’ll think the other memories are visions.”

“What happened to no more unauthorized experiments? You don’t know if she can handle it.”

“I submitted a very tragic backstory for her. Slavery. Forced prostitution. She’ll be fine.”

“Do I have to open my shirt and show you what I think of your overconfidence?” Brienne’s injury had faded to a grizzly scar. It was quite the attention-getter at the gym, even more so when she implied she wasn’t allowed to talk about it.

"It was Qyburn’s experiments that got you chomped, not mine,” Mel said. “Her violence controls are at maximum. She literally can’t hurt a fly.”

Brienne met Mel’s protest with a firm stare. “It’s unpredictable.”

“Says the woman living with one who has no controls at all. Taking him out among the general population.”

“That was all authorized.”

“By Qyburn. Want to guess if he had approval from higher up?”

_Of course he didn’t._ Brienne realized she should have known better. She looked down in defeat.

“Do you know,” Mel asked casually, “your Jaime isn’t even in the system anymore? I made sure all his data files were overwritten by new Jaime. That’s why you’re able to leave the park with him. Someday you two could make a life completely unconnected to here. No one would spot anything unusual. I consider him our first graduate. Perhaps in a few decades this place will be a nature preserve and they’ll all be out in the real world.”

A spark returned to Brienne’s eyes. Mel was very strange and very good with computers. “Tell me you don’t have documentation for an identical twin hidden somewhere in your apartment.”

“Why, I’m offended. I would never… be so careless as to leave it in my apartment.”

The women exchanged a conspiratorial glance. “Good luck, and be careful,” Brienne said. “It takes time.”

“I know. But it can be done. We are like gods now, making children in our own image.”

Brienne nodded her farewell. Mel was strange indeed, a fanatic really. Brienne would never call herself a god. She did, however, feel like a knight who had freed a noble beauty from imprisonment and won his undying love.

 


End file.
